


smoke signals

by duchamp



Category: From Dusk Till Dawn: The Series
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-17
Updated: 2017-01-17
Packaged: 2018-09-18 05:45:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9370763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/duchamp/pseuds/duchamp
Summary: This isn’t some film reel. There’s no soundtrack or script to dictate blocking. No action or cut. This is real life and Seth’s flesh and blood and bone and the closest thing she has to a friend. She doesn’t want to ruin that. Not that she could.





	

**Author's Note:**

> What I was expecting to be my next SethKate fic is slowly but surely turning into a sprawling mess, so here’s this. I’ll probably keep knocking out some shorter fics coming up, just so I don’t get burnt out on the long one. Anyway, here’s S1-S2 pining Kate for you.

They’ve come to a fork in the road.

She’s chucking her sneakers, an abandoned pair they found outside a landfill. Before they had any cash on them at all. Before Seth was even attempting to pull small jobs, having to learn so much from scratch. Richard was gone, and he didn’t know how to operate as a single man show. Had to ruminate on tactics. Meditate on exactly what persona to wear. What lines to say when he didn’t have a scene partner participating.

So, yeah, they dumpster dived their first week together. Found worn clothes and bits of leftover food thrown out. Kate didn’t mind. It was a lesson in humility. She’d take this experience and learn. Make lemons into lemonade. Open up a bible when she could finally get her hands on one, when they could somehow scrounge up enough cash to afford a motel, and find the correct psalm to relate to. 

But Seth hated it. Felt guilty and dirty and plain wrong about it. He felt responsible for her, Kate knew. Looked at her like she was a charge he didn’t ask for; but now that she was in his care, like hell she was going to be eating out of the trash. But they were stuck. Used gum between two sides of a napkin. Glue holding two objects together. They were sleeping in the Corvette every night. Seth would try to park it somewhere inconspicuous, give them shelter under tree trunks and branches and bushes and leaves.

He’d sleep on his back, try to remain as still as possible while Kate crowded his front. She would have to practically maneuver herself on top of him. One leg hitched over his, her head resting on his chest. She was always worried she’d crush him and he’d laugh, assure her he’d live. What she didn’t tell him was that the whole arrangement made her anxious. She’d never slept with anyone else before, much less a _boy_.

Now they’re getting by. They’re getting by just fine and she’s chucking those sneakers with holes in them.

“Got to go, princess.” Seth’s calling her back to the car.

She bends her knees and stretches her sore legs on last time, yells, “Coming!” Runs back to him from where she was standing overlooking a ravine, thinking of all the feet a person could tumble down.

How many feet could a person tumble down and possibly live?

 

 

 

Quite a lot, apparently.

Seth already has a problem with self-medicating. Kate notices this, even if he thinks he’s being slick. There’s the usual ticks—first drink of the day always around noon, alcohol being the cheapest and most easily accessible, pills he pops like candy, badly rolled joints he smokes in the bathroom or outside. 

She doesn’t know when he stopped trying to keep these things from her. Stopped considering her feelings. Doesn’t know what pushed him to that razor’s edge. To that incandescent hurtle towards death. To black tar. To heroin.

He’ll even shoot up in front of her without qualms. And she wonders if this is better. That she bear witness to his sin, to the results of its affect. Perhaps it will help rid her of the queasy stomach she gets whenever he’s not close. Help wash her of the tingle that covers her skin from head to toe whenever he’s _too_ close.

Because she doesn’t like these sensations. They’re foreign and they’re strange and she hesitates to tack a definition onto them. Regret gallivanting like an ugly beast ready to show itself if she does.

This isn’t some film reel. There’s no soundtrack or script to dictate blocking. No action or cut. This is real life and Seth’s flesh and blood and bone and the closest thing she has to a friend. She doesn’t want to ruin that. Not that she could.

He’s not available to her, in any capacity. Might be living with her but he’s still caught surviving on the mere memory of his brother. And it’s chipping away at him, day after day.

“What do you want to eat, tonight?” His eyes are already rolling into the back of his head. The rubber band around his forearm going loose. He places the needle and plunger on the table in front of him. So casual. Like it’s a cup of coffee or the newspaper.

(Childish fantasy. A second long. Years ahead. A house like the one she lived in back in Bethel. Sprinklers and a lawn. Seth sitting at an actual kitchen table. “What do you want for breakfast?” He asks her. And she’s heading over to him in pajamas, an anonymous dog scurrying behind her. She goes to him and he reaches for her—)

“I’m not hungry,” Kate says.

 

 

 

 

He has good days and bad days. For awhile, the good outnumber the bad.

He’ll be out of it, floating in his own construction the drugs have created, mouth hanging open, gaping like a fish on dry land. Then the peak of the high will pass, and he’ll be steady. Appearing entirely normal and together. Anyone who’d pass him on the street would never guess.

And then they’ll be driving in the car and he’ll find a station she wants to listen to without prompting. He’ll let her have the first shower, every time. He’s memorized exactly what type of soda she prefers so he can pick it up when they pass a corner market. Little things, all stacking up.

Kate tries not to read too much into them. Figures Seth’s attention to these details has simply been cultivated by the close proximity between their bodies. By the heaps and heaps of hours they’ve spent together. It doesn’t mean anything, really.

 

 

 

 

She buys into the idea that he can control it. Have his stash and portion it out. Use and still be functional. He’ll just be high for a little while, clear for the rest. It’s a stupid thing to convince herself of. A lie she tells herself, a protectionary measure.

A month in, and she can’t follow her preferred narrative anymore. He’s going through withdrawal. Not enough money in their pockets to pay for his poison; between the food, clothes on their backs, gas, and board. He’s been without for only fourteen hours and is already starting to sweat profusely, words slurred, limbs gone to jelly, coordination for shit.

Kate doesn’t want to do what she does. She doesn’t. But she can’t stand the sight of him. It hurts her heart, makes her feel sore all over. Number on a small scrap of paper, she calls one of his usual dealers. Gathers the money they set aside for meals. Makes sure Seth is as comfortable as he can be before she leaves. Whispers she’ll be back, softly as she can. Any noise causes him unbearable pain.

She picks up the drugs. Ignores the rumbling in her stomach. Scared to leave the motel, she hasn’t had lunch or dinner. Well, better get used to it, Kate thinks. After this cost, she’s not going to be getting anything to eat for awhile.

When she gets back, Seth’s barely conscious. And, in some strange way, she’s almost grateful for it. He’s not mumbling anymore. Not crying. It’s blessedly silent.

She climbs onto the bed where he lays, gathers him into her lap. He’s heavy. Too much muscle. The sweat on his skin soaks through her pant leg. “I’ve got you,” she says. Prepares the drug herself, sticks him. Hopes she’s doing it right.

Apparently so, because Seth’s whole body just… goes calm. Relaxed. His weight starting to be too much for her, but she continues to hold him. “You can’t keep—” She sighs. The starts of a sniffle. “You’re all I’ve got, okay? Seth?” She shakes him a little. He doesn’t respond. “I love you,” she says, and it’s the first time she’s ever even admitted it to herself. “I love you and you can’t die. You’re not allowed to.”

Seth hums slightly then, shifting. Kate tenses, wondering if he heard. “K—Katie?” Her name is past his lips, but when he tries to open his eyes he can’t. Drifts right back off.

 

 

 

 

He comes back to where they’re staying with another woman. She has curled auburn hair. She’s tall. She’s wearing these denim cut-offs and a top that bares most of her abdomen. They’re leaning together on the motel’s dresser in a heap of limbs. Rutting like a pair of animals in heat and Seth lets out this noise, gruff and primal and so much better a sound than anything Kate’s ever heard in her dreams.

She catches a glimpse of this. Coming back from the pool in her sopping wet underwear and bra, covered in a bath towel. Closes the door as quickly as she opened it. They don’t notice her. She runs back down to the water, sits at the edge. Clings to the pavement’s lip with two white-knuckled hands.

Eyes darting to see no one there, pride farthest thing from her mind, she starts to cry. Tears streaming down her face, hiccups, trying to keep it all contained. “You’re not like this,” she chides herself, out loud. “Stop it.”

It’s stupid to cry over things that aren’t any of her business. It’s stupid to think about things she’ll never have. Like Seth would ever notice her in that way. Like Seth would ever want to _touch_ her in that way.

She wipes at her cheeks. Swallows. Goes to sit on one of the lounge chairs and wait.

 

 

 

 

“Why are you here?” It’s a question not meant for her. He thinks she’s asleep. Talking to the ceiling. “Why haven’t you fucking left me?”

Because I’m in love you. I told you. You just didn’t hear me. You didn’t hear me and you weren’t supposed to because you’d laugh in my face.

Kate burrows further into her pillow. Breathes. In, out.

They’ll start this all over again tomorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> Drop a comment if you enjoyed. Sometimes I make things for FDTD on [Tumblr](http://highsmith.tumblr.com/), too.


End file.
